metonymy4u

Contradiction of entropy was forever my poetic aim. To
extract distance from every sense, assurance from
every emotion and the last sign of contemplation which
when expressed might be complete. Since imbued
with the oblique track of sadness, trapped inside me for a
piece of time, I contradicted my limit, grew away from
the circle of life—thus much was enough. Emulate
I said, emulate, and be done. That’s where the love is.
Close the room, rip the peel from an orange, adjourn
the love tryst of mass and energy. My faith in the balance.
From there we burn our way back to earth. Enter
the atmosphere a hopeless curve against a tangent
of orbital tendencies, bounce once over the Atlantic,
and seek nothing but a breezy landing on a southwest evening,

slowly. Slowly.
Love forever grows more slowly than leaves.